Winds esker                
  
                                          
 There Was This  Place That For Two Years 
 I  Couldn'T Go To.  Regardless  How Much 
 Discussed  With  Others,  Or Pointed Out 
 On Maps,  I Could Not Think Of  It  When 
 Alone. I  Would Often  Travel  Past  The 
 Fork, Where  A Right  Turn  Would Surely 
 Take Me  There, But Even Then, Something 
               Kept Me Away.              
                                          
 When I  Finally  Got  There, After  Some 
     Heavy Subconscious Battle I Must     
 Assume,   The  Place   Was  Surreal.  An 
 Esker,  Like A  Needle-Thin Rift  Out In 
 The  Lake,   But  Ten  Meters  High  And 
 Adorned In  Birch,  Willow, Bracken, And 
               Blueberries.               
                                          
 Walking  Atop  That  Spine,  I  Came  To 
 Notice The View To  Either  Side.  There 
 Should  Be  Shores,  Of  Course,  But  I 
 Didn'T Recognize Them.  First  Off, They 
 Were Much Too Close, As  The Lake Should 
 Stretch  For  A  Hundred Meters More  On 
 Both  Sides.  But Now  I  Felt  I  Could 
 Almost  Reach Out  And Touch  Them.  And 
 Then,  When I Realized Which Shores They 
           Were, I Had To Stop.           
                                          
 They Were  Of The Right  Lake.  But This 
      Lake Is Large, Fractured, And       
 Bipartite. Like  A Pair Of Lungs  Carved 
 Into The Granite, And With No  Less Than 
   Five Communities Anchored At Various   
      Points. And So, Studying These      
     Impossibly Close Shores, I Slowly    
 Understood Them As  Belonging Many Miles 
                   Away.                  
                                          
 I  Examined  The   Ridge,  The  Treeline 
 Above.  Was This What You  Saw Opposite, 
 From  Those  Other  Shores?  I  Couldn'T 
                Remember.                 
                                          
 Carrying  Forward,  On  The Very  Tip Of 
 The Esker,  I  Found The Ruins  Of  Some 
    Old Building. There Were Overgrown    
  Marble Staircases, Stone Floors Beneath 
 The  Moss,  And  Strange  Slabs Inserted 
 Into The  Slope  Like  Dams Against  The 
              Ground Itself.              
                                          
 Sitting  There, I  Could See Across  The 
 Narrowed Lake My Entire Path  To Where I 
 Sat:  From The  Stairwell Of  My  House, 
 Through  The Old  Woods  Behind The Tile 
      Factory, The Bridge Over Route      
 Twenty three  And  Then Back  Under  It, 
 Through  The   Fancy  Villas,  Over  The 
 Fields, And  Then That Right Turn At The 
                   Fork.                  
                                          
 And Then  The  Stairs  Up  On The Ridge. 
 Thinking  Back,  This Was  Probably  It. 
 Hidden  In A  Grove,  There  Were Stairs 
 Much Like The  Ones I Currently  Sat On, 
 Old  And Worn  Down,  That Lead  You  Up 
 Onto  The Esker. The Point Of Entry. Had 
 I Insted Opted To Walk  The Path  At Its 
 Foot,  I'M Sure My  Experience  Would'Ve 
          Been Different Indeed.          
                                          
  
                                          
 On  The  Lake,   There  Were  People  In 
 Boats. I  Wondered, Could They  Even See 
 Me?  If I  Shouted,  Would They Turn  To 
         Stare Right Through Me?